


Such Sweet Sorrow

by Fire_Sign



Series: Phrack Fucking Fridays [8]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9927851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: When Jack has to return to Melbourne and Phryne has to stay in London, they have to say goodbye. A miserable smutlet for PFF.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't know where my head was with this one. LOL

“I’ll keep the house,” she had said when she had announced her plans, the small hope she had needed to follow through. “Dot and Hugh can stay as long as they like, and Jane will have somewhere to go home to, and Mr. Butler--”

“Will hate it,” Jack had interjected, and Phryne had laughed.

“Most likely. And I won’t begrudge him leaving my employ in that case. But…”

“You can’t see any other way.”

She’d hated how tremulous her smile had been; neither of them could find an alternative, try though they may. “It won’t all be bad, Jack. Travel is much easier when one is based in London.”

He’d nodded, unable or unwilling to argue any longer. And in the last few weeks before his ship returned home they had clung to each other, knowing it wouldn’t last but trying all the same. Now he stood in the parlour of her small Mayfair townhouse, still in the midst of being decorated and unpacked, wearing his coat and fedora--it was the image her mind conjured when she thought of him, more substantial even than him naked and longing and in her bed. It was the image she would hold on to.

“Your train to Southampton leaves early tomorrow,” she said quietly. “I thought you’d go down tonight.”

He shrugged. “Would you prefer I did?”

It would be easier to think their last parting had already happened, that she’d left his hotel room to return to the house she would make home and knew it was the end by the horrible ache in her chest, but she could not bring herself to wish it.

“Mr. Jarvis will drive you in the morning,” she said; it would buy them an extra hour, if they were lucky.

Stepping forward, she lifted his hat from his head and placed it on her own, giving him a playful smile as she turned and headed towards the staircase. He followed, pausing to hang his coat by the door, and Phryne called instructions to her butler about the morning. The young man agreed without hesitation, no doubt having already anticipated her requests--he was no Mr. Butler, but given enough time he’d do very well indeed, and he didn’t blink at the sight of his mistress wearing a fedora as she led a man to her boudoir, so he was well on his way.

Inside the bedroom, filled with rich blues and greys, Phryne tossed the hat onto a chair and undressed, raising an eyebrow at Jack until he did the same. She raked her eyes over him approvingly as she found and placed her diaphragm, and even after the months he’d been in England he blushed; she could tell him that there was no need, that he was the most beautiful man in her acquaintance not just in his physicality but in his strength and honour and love, but the blushing was rather endearing and she took his hand and led him to the bed. Pushing him against the pillows, she came to straddle him and trailed kisses across the expanse of his chest and stomach; when she reached his groin he made a murmur of protest, no doubt ready to demand her equal pleasure, an encounter passionate and wild and memorable. She reached up, pressing a finger to his lips to silence him.

“Let me be selfish,” she murmured against the skin of his thigh, her tone somewhere between a request and a reprimand.

His chuckle was deeper, throatier than she had grown accustomed to, and she realised the knot in her throat was also in his.

“I’m not sure I’d call this selfish,” he replied, groaning as she took him deep in her mouth.

She hummed, felt him jolt at the sensation, was thankful her tongue and lips were otherwise occupied--the desire to tell him that of course this was selfish, that any number of men had and would bring her pleasure but memorising him was an indulgence driven purely by her own greed, was immense. She watched his face as she swirled her tongue around his cockhead, the twitch of his jaw and the taut tendons of his neck the only signs of his battle for self-control. This was, perhaps, the greatest indulgence of all; crumbling every restraint, barging past every wall, and unmaking Jack Robinson.

Catching her careful gaze, he smiled; she felt her own internal workings shift, change, realign themselves, and she wondered whether she would ever be the same person she once was, or whether she wanted to be. She scraped her nails down his thighs, soft but insistent, heard his groan.

“Phryne…”

She pulled her mouth away, biting her bottom lip as she smiled.

“Yes?” she purred, her hand on his cock now.

He swallowed hard, the final defense before he fell.

“C’mere,” he requested, taking a hand and tugging her upward. “As lovely as your mouth is…”

His free hand rose to cradle her head, pulling her in for a kiss. She rose above him, exhaled softly as she sunk on to him; she began to move, not in a quest for orgasm but simply to feel them together, and kissed him all the while.

She barely noticed when they rolled, laughing when she realised that she was now looking up at him instead instead of down, his warmth and weight against her. The rhythm sped up, and she almost wished it wouldn’t, that this could go on indefinitely; the pragmatic in her knew exactly how impossible that would be, but a fanciful part of her imagined stretching this moment--the blue of his eyes, the scent of sex and sweat, the smooth glide of their joining, the imperfect chafing of skin against skin that heightened the pleasure, the sharp pants and mewls between them--stretching it until she could remember nothing that came before or see what would come after. This moment and nothing else.

His head dropped to her shoulder, his hand slipping between them to tease her clit and drive her over the edge, his breath hot and short against her ear as he struggled to hold on. Her fingers scrabbled against his shoulders, anchoring her to him as they both came, a tiny sob escaping at her peak, hot, wet tears on her shoulder at his. Neither acknowledged the other’s moment of weakness, but held on all the tighter.

When they had recovered and disentangled, he lay against the pillows and watched her move around the room. She could slip beneath the covers, lay her head against his chest--she certainly had before. But the idea of doing so, of feeling his loss when he made his way from the bed in only a few short hours… She climbed into the bed, urging him to his side and facing away from her, then spooned against his back and held him tight. Catching a scent she couldn’t quite place, she breathed deeply--it was her perfume on his skin, and she wondered whether she had always left traces of herself behind when they had made love. They didn’t speak, the metallic ticking of the bedside clock marking the seconds, minutes, hours until he left.

“I would stay,” he eventually whispered into the dark, no doubt thinking her asleep.

“I know, my darling,” she replied, her voice even softer than his. “But you’d hate it.”

“I hate this.”

She kissed his shoulder blade.

“But you don’t hate me,” she said, swallowing hard; he would eventually, if he gave up his entire life in Melbourne, and she would never choose to be the source of his misery.

“I couldn’t,” he replied, but they both knew it was a lie. It settled over them, heavy and oppressive. After a moment he sighed, rolling over to meet her eyes in the near darkness. “I’d ask if you regret this, but I don’t think the word is in your vocabulary.”

She laughed quietly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “And you, Jack?

Nuzzling the crook of her shoulder, she felt his bittersweet smile in the tension of his cheeks.

“Not a moment, Miss Fisher.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Till It Be Morrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10771527) by [Sarahtoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo)




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